The King's Gala, R
Dec. 20th, 2010 09:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: The King’s Gala
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Frodo/Faramir, Frodo/Aragorn
Summary: Frodo is content to spend his post-quest days in the Citadel with Faramir. Or is he?
Thank you, Shirebound, for the thorough beta! Written for a hobbit_smut challenge ages ago.
“Don’t kill me, Frodo!”
Frodo wiped his dusty hands on his breeches. He could not help but laugh at the sheepish grin on Pippin’s face. He had been hard at work dusting the books in Faramir’s room when Pippin had burst in. The maids did a fine job of cleaning, but they did not bother with Faramir’s books; or more likely, Faramir had forbidden anybody but Frodo to touch them.
Pippin now stood in the doorway, wearing his guard finery, helmet and all, but the dignity of his attire did not shield the familiar mischief in his green eyes. He would surely burst if he did not deliver his message.
Frodo motioned for Pippin to enter, then crossed his arms. “It would hardly be proper for a gentlehobbit of the Shire to kill a guard of the Citadel. Now out with it!”
“True.” Pippin nodded gravely. “The King would surely have your head for it, Ringbearer or not, and then Faramir would be forced to take a wife!”
The two hobbits laughed, and Pippin flung his arms around Frodo’s neck. “We’ve not seen hide nor hair of you, cousin, but at least Faramir’s put the color back in your cheeks.”
Frodo laughed again, this time with some embarrassment. “So tell me, Peregrin Took, just why was I meant to kill you?”
Pippin put his hands behind his back, grinning. “Aragorn is throwing a special gala this evening in the great hall.”
Frodo gave him a puzzled look. “There is nothing unusual in that. He’s hosted feasts night after night as of late. Come now, Pippin, why do you look like a cow ready to birth?”
Just then Faramir stepped out of the bathing room, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He startled when he saw that Frodo had a guest. “Pardon me,” he said, flushing, stepping quickly back into the bathing room.
Frodo muffled his laughter against the younger hobbit’s shoulder. “A battle-hardened warrior, and still, he’s so easily mortified,” he whispered in glee. “My poor darling! Now out with your message!”
“Strider–the King Elessar–wanted me to make certain you will be there tonight. He’s noted that you’ve missed the last few of his feasts.”
Frodo’s cheeks heated. Faramir had insisted they miss the last few. After all, nobody could be expected to celebrate every single night, and Faramir’s tolerance of large crowds and debauchery was quite low. But that Aragorn had noticed and had been disappointed – his stomach fluttered.
“Poor Aragorn,” Frodo managed faintly. Elrond had recently arrived from Rivendell, bearing tidings that Arwen had chosen to sail to Valinor. Aragorn had borne the news stoically, and had first made certain his Elvish guests were comfortable before locking himself away. For several days he had seen no one except for Gandalf, and when he had finally emerged from seclusion, he began to throw nearly daily extravagant galas that lasted long into the night.
“I know,” Pippin said. “It is a pity that you and he never—”
“Hush,” Frodo said, casting a quick glance back into Faramir’s chamber. Faramir never needed to know that he had been second choice.
“I shall see you tonight, then,” Pippin said, winking.
Frodo went back inside the chamber, closing the door behind him.
“Why the mysterious smile?” Faramir asked. He was now mostly dressed, and he laced up his shirt.
“There shall be an evening affair tonight,” Frodo said. “I am to go.”
“Ah, another gala,” Faramir said, lifting his brows. “King Elessar might be wise to take an occasional night off.”
“When you are king,” Frodo said, bumping into Faramir so that he lost his balance and toppled onto the bed. “You can decide.”
“Oh, ho,” Faramir laughed, gently pulling on Frodo’s wrist until the hobbit was forced to lie on his chest. “I would then decide never to leave my room while such a delectable hobbit gives me company.”
He pulled Frodo into a tight embrace, crushing his lips with a fierce kiss. Frodo slid his arms around Faramir’s neck, feeling the thudding of Faramir’s heart against his own chest. He slid his foot between Faramir’s thighs and gently nuzzled the Man’s groin with his furry toes. Faramir shuddered and broke off his kiss, gasping. With a teasing smile, Frodo wriggled his toes over Faramir’s swelling hardness again. Faramir laughed, his eyes bright with desire, and he slid his hands into Frodo’s breeches over the hobbit’s bare bottom, nibbling on Frodo’s pointy ear. Frodo barely felt his breeches slide down before he caught the familiar scent of vanilla oil and welcomed Faramir’s slippery warmth filling him again and again.
***
The feast began as all others in Merethrond did -- long tables piled with food, carafes filled with dark red wine, people laughing in the giddy way that they had since the fall of Sauron as the wine loosened their tongues and flushed their faces. Frodo and Faramir shared a table with Éowyn and Merry. Merry, who had already had more than enough of Gondor’s most potent wine, entertained Éowyn with escapades of drunken silliness in the Shire. Éowyn laughed gaily, although she cast occasional cool glances toward Faramir. Frodo found it puzzling that Aragorn had placed Faramir and Éowyn at the same table. It was no secret that during the last dark days of the War Éowyn had turned her affections from Aragorn onto Faramir. But dear, faithful Faramir had held hope that Frodo would return to him alive, and he had refused her. Since then, there had not only been awkwardness between the cool lady of Rohan and Faramir, but also thick tension each time Faramir and Éomer encountered one another. Frodo clutched Faramir’s hand under the table and squeezed. Faramir smiled down at him.
“More wine, love?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
As Faramir replenished Frodo’s wineglass, Frodo caught Aragorn’s smoldering gaze on him. Frodo’s breath caught in his throat and he found that his groin had warmed. Aragorn’s gaze reminded him of just how frightening and yet arousing a wild Ranger in Bree had seemed to a hobbit new to the world of Men.
He remembered all too clearly that day in Lórien, when Aragorn had led him to the foot of Cerin Amroth. The beauty and peace of that Elvish realm had dulled caution, and it had been natural for Aragorn to take Frodo’s hand as they walked. Aragorn had knelt beside him and slid his arm around the hobbit’s waist, as if to view the beauty of the land from Frodo’s vantage. Frodo had impulsively leaned in and captured Aragorn’s mouth with his. As Frodo had gulped and sucked at Aragorn’s lips, leaning into the Man’s unyielding chest, he had felt that if he could just have Aragorn’s heart for his own, that he could conquer all of Mordor on his own.
Still holding Faramir’s hand under the table, Frodo glanced again at Aragorn and found the King still staring in his direction. Frodo gulped several sips of wine before nearly knocking his glass over with his trembling hand.
“Are you well, Frodo?” Faramir asked. “You are flushed.”
But before he could answer, Aragorn rose to his feet. He tapped a silver spoon against his wineglass until everyone in the hall rose to their feet and fell into an attentive silence.
“I see that this evening finds most of you in good health and happiness, and that makes my heart glad.” He paused and again his keen gaze fell on Frodo. Frodo shifted his feet and looked down. Aragorn continued, “I have a rather unusual proposition for the remainder of the night.”
As he spoke, the hall fell into a stunned silence.
***
An hour later, in the King’s chamber, Frodo sat on the edge of the settee, as stiff as can be, hands folded primly in his lap. He tried to keep his breaths steady and failed.
After securing the latch to his door, Aragorn removed the crown from his head, and as he set it on his bureau, he cast a shy smile at Frodo. Frodo smiled back, though his lips trembled. Faramir would be furious – not at Frodo but at his king. Never would he have attended the gala if he had known such mischief to be in store.
Aragorn had introduced an Elvish party game, in which he had randomly sorted his guests into pairs and then commanded they spend the remainder of the evening in a designated room together. Of course Frodo did not believe for a moment that the King’s choices had been random. When Aragorn had announced that he would spend the evening with Frodo, Frodo had heard Faramir’s distressed sigh but he had been unable to meet his eyes.
Aragorn now sat beside Frodo and clasped his hand. His firm grip sent shivers up Frodo’s arms; he had longed for this since Rivendell, but if he allowed it to begin, he would not be able to stop. “Aragorn…”
Aragorn grasped Frodo’s shoulders, kneading his strong fingers into the hobbit’s tense muscles. “I know you are bound to Faramir.”
“This will hurt him.” Frodo took in deep breaths, trying calm his trembling. “Why did you—?”
“Hush,” Aragorn said, continuing to massage Frodo’s shoulders. “I’ll not do anything you do not wish.”
“I am bound to Faramir, but…” Frodo met Aragorn’s eyes. Oh, he should not be saying this, not when it would hurt his Faramir. “I would not be bound to him if I had thought you…if I had known…”
“If you knew I would be free,” Aragorn finished quietly. “Frodo, I give you my word. If you do not wish for this, then we will just give one another company for the night. I have missed you.”
Frodo bit his lip. Before charming Faramir into bed at Henneth Annun, he had spent many nights dreaming of exactly this – Aragorn seeking him out and declaring his desire. Even when he and Faramir made love, Frodo had sometimes pretended it was Aragorn thrusting into him. But Faramir’s heart was pure, and he believed Frodo’s to be pure as well. Frodo could never break his vow to him.
“Let us just talk,” Frodo said.
A carafe of wine rested on the table beside the settee, and next to it, two glasses.
“First things first,” Aragorn said, pouring the glasses full. They tapped their glasses together in toast. “To my Frodo.”
“But I am not yours.”
Aragorn smiled. “Forget not that I can send Faramir far away.”
“But you are too kind to break him in such a way."
“I wonder,” Aragorn said, his smile fading as his finger ran down Frodo’s soft cheek. “I wonder.”
He pulled Frodo into an embrace so that Frodo’s head rested against his chest. Frodo allowed this intimacy as they sipped their wine and talked. For one night, he could imagine what life could be. He dared not lift his head, for if he did, their lips would meet again, and then Frodo’s resolve would crumble.
***
Frodo had taken great care to straighten his clothing, to make sure his hair did not look mussed.
Faramir lay on their bed, his boots still on, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He startled when Frodo came in. He sat up, his jaw clenching.
“Did he touch you?”
His expression softened when Frodo cringed. “Do not fear wrath from me. I know you could not refuse the King.”
Frodo could not meet his gaze as he undressed, taking great pains to fold each article of clothing. “We merely shared wine and talked.” He smiled up at Faramir. “I will not tell you a falsehood – it gave me pleasure to talk to him in privacy.”
Faramir smiled. “The Lady Éowyn tried very hard to gain my favor; and I must admit she has the gift of persuasion. I had not had a woman in a long time, and she has an unusual beauty – “ He broke off when he saw how hard Frodo was.
“She does not have hobbit sense,” Frodo broke in, climbing into bed and straddling Faramir. He tugged at the laces to Faramir’s shirt, thrusting his arousal against Faramir’s groin.
Faramir sat upright, clutching Frodo’s hips. “Dare I hope that your heart stirs with jealousy?” He helped Frodo by taking off his shirt and flinging it to the floor.
“Yes…a little.” Frodo tugged at the laces to Faramir’s leggings while allowing the Man to cover his mouth with a deep, searching kiss. Rough hands stroked Frodo’s hips, moving up over his chest and nipples and back down to his arousal. Faramir was rock hard now and Frodo grasped his length.
“Oil!” Frodo demanded. Faramir’s arm encircled the back of Frodo’s neck, pulling him close for a lingering kiss while he reached for the vial on their bedside.
Later, lying secure in his lover’s tight embrace, sticky with their combined seed, Frodo smiled at the ceiling. His body resonated from the pleasure Faramir had given him, but also with the relief that the possibility of losing Faramir to Éowyn had caused such pain in his heart. Finally at peace with the choice he had made, he fell into a contented sleep.
END
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Frodo/Faramir, Frodo/Aragorn
Summary: Frodo is content to spend his post-quest days in the Citadel with Faramir. Or is he?
Thank you, Shirebound, for the thorough beta! Written for a hobbit_smut challenge ages ago.
“Don’t kill me, Frodo!”
Frodo wiped his dusty hands on his breeches. He could not help but laugh at the sheepish grin on Pippin’s face. He had been hard at work dusting the books in Faramir’s room when Pippin had burst in. The maids did a fine job of cleaning, but they did not bother with Faramir’s books; or more likely, Faramir had forbidden anybody but Frodo to touch them.
Pippin now stood in the doorway, wearing his guard finery, helmet and all, but the dignity of his attire did not shield the familiar mischief in his green eyes. He would surely burst if he did not deliver his message.
Frodo motioned for Pippin to enter, then crossed his arms. “It would hardly be proper for a gentlehobbit of the Shire to kill a guard of the Citadel. Now out with it!”
“True.” Pippin nodded gravely. “The King would surely have your head for it, Ringbearer or not, and then Faramir would be forced to take a wife!”
The two hobbits laughed, and Pippin flung his arms around Frodo’s neck. “We’ve not seen hide nor hair of you, cousin, but at least Faramir’s put the color back in your cheeks.”
Frodo laughed again, this time with some embarrassment. “So tell me, Peregrin Took, just why was I meant to kill you?”
Pippin put his hands behind his back, grinning. “Aragorn is throwing a special gala this evening in the great hall.”
Frodo gave him a puzzled look. “There is nothing unusual in that. He’s hosted feasts night after night as of late. Come now, Pippin, why do you look like a cow ready to birth?”
Just then Faramir stepped out of the bathing room, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He startled when he saw that Frodo had a guest. “Pardon me,” he said, flushing, stepping quickly back into the bathing room.
Frodo muffled his laughter against the younger hobbit’s shoulder. “A battle-hardened warrior, and still, he’s so easily mortified,” he whispered in glee. “My poor darling! Now out with your message!”
“Strider–the King Elessar–wanted me to make certain you will be there tonight. He’s noted that you’ve missed the last few of his feasts.”
Frodo’s cheeks heated. Faramir had insisted they miss the last few. After all, nobody could be expected to celebrate every single night, and Faramir’s tolerance of large crowds and debauchery was quite low. But that Aragorn had noticed and had been disappointed – his stomach fluttered.
“Poor Aragorn,” Frodo managed faintly. Elrond had recently arrived from Rivendell, bearing tidings that Arwen had chosen to sail to Valinor. Aragorn had borne the news stoically, and had first made certain his Elvish guests were comfortable before locking himself away. For several days he had seen no one except for Gandalf, and when he had finally emerged from seclusion, he began to throw nearly daily extravagant galas that lasted long into the night.
“I know,” Pippin said. “It is a pity that you and he never—”
“Hush,” Frodo said, casting a quick glance back into Faramir’s chamber. Faramir never needed to know that he had been second choice.
“I shall see you tonight, then,” Pippin said, winking.
Frodo went back inside the chamber, closing the door behind him.
“Why the mysterious smile?” Faramir asked. He was now mostly dressed, and he laced up his shirt.
“There shall be an evening affair tonight,” Frodo said. “I am to go.”
“Ah, another gala,” Faramir said, lifting his brows. “King Elessar might be wise to take an occasional night off.”
“When you are king,” Frodo said, bumping into Faramir so that he lost his balance and toppled onto the bed. “You can decide.”
“Oh, ho,” Faramir laughed, gently pulling on Frodo’s wrist until the hobbit was forced to lie on his chest. “I would then decide never to leave my room while such a delectable hobbit gives me company.”
He pulled Frodo into a tight embrace, crushing his lips with a fierce kiss. Frodo slid his arms around Faramir’s neck, feeling the thudding of Faramir’s heart against his own chest. He slid his foot between Faramir’s thighs and gently nuzzled the Man’s groin with his furry toes. Faramir shuddered and broke off his kiss, gasping. With a teasing smile, Frodo wriggled his toes over Faramir’s swelling hardness again. Faramir laughed, his eyes bright with desire, and he slid his hands into Frodo’s breeches over the hobbit’s bare bottom, nibbling on Frodo’s pointy ear. Frodo barely felt his breeches slide down before he caught the familiar scent of vanilla oil and welcomed Faramir’s slippery warmth filling him again and again.
***
The feast began as all others in Merethrond did -- long tables piled with food, carafes filled with dark red wine, people laughing in the giddy way that they had since the fall of Sauron as the wine loosened their tongues and flushed their faces. Frodo and Faramir shared a table with Éowyn and Merry. Merry, who had already had more than enough of Gondor’s most potent wine, entertained Éowyn with escapades of drunken silliness in the Shire. Éowyn laughed gaily, although she cast occasional cool glances toward Faramir. Frodo found it puzzling that Aragorn had placed Faramir and Éowyn at the same table. It was no secret that during the last dark days of the War Éowyn had turned her affections from Aragorn onto Faramir. But dear, faithful Faramir had held hope that Frodo would return to him alive, and he had refused her. Since then, there had not only been awkwardness between the cool lady of Rohan and Faramir, but also thick tension each time Faramir and Éomer encountered one another. Frodo clutched Faramir’s hand under the table and squeezed. Faramir smiled down at him.
“More wine, love?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
As Faramir replenished Frodo’s wineglass, Frodo caught Aragorn’s smoldering gaze on him. Frodo’s breath caught in his throat and he found that his groin had warmed. Aragorn’s gaze reminded him of just how frightening and yet arousing a wild Ranger in Bree had seemed to a hobbit new to the world of Men.
He remembered all too clearly that day in Lórien, when Aragorn had led him to the foot of Cerin Amroth. The beauty and peace of that Elvish realm had dulled caution, and it had been natural for Aragorn to take Frodo’s hand as they walked. Aragorn had knelt beside him and slid his arm around the hobbit’s waist, as if to view the beauty of the land from Frodo’s vantage. Frodo had impulsively leaned in and captured Aragorn’s mouth with his. As Frodo had gulped and sucked at Aragorn’s lips, leaning into the Man’s unyielding chest, he had felt that if he could just have Aragorn’s heart for his own, that he could conquer all of Mordor on his own.
Still holding Faramir’s hand under the table, Frodo glanced again at Aragorn and found the King still staring in his direction. Frodo gulped several sips of wine before nearly knocking his glass over with his trembling hand.
“Are you well, Frodo?” Faramir asked. “You are flushed.”
But before he could answer, Aragorn rose to his feet. He tapped a silver spoon against his wineglass until everyone in the hall rose to their feet and fell into an attentive silence.
“I see that this evening finds most of you in good health and happiness, and that makes my heart glad.” He paused and again his keen gaze fell on Frodo. Frodo shifted his feet and looked down. Aragorn continued, “I have a rather unusual proposition for the remainder of the night.”
As he spoke, the hall fell into a stunned silence.
***
An hour later, in the King’s chamber, Frodo sat on the edge of the settee, as stiff as can be, hands folded primly in his lap. He tried to keep his breaths steady and failed.
After securing the latch to his door, Aragorn removed the crown from his head, and as he set it on his bureau, he cast a shy smile at Frodo. Frodo smiled back, though his lips trembled. Faramir would be furious – not at Frodo but at his king. Never would he have attended the gala if he had known such mischief to be in store.
Aragorn had introduced an Elvish party game, in which he had randomly sorted his guests into pairs and then commanded they spend the remainder of the evening in a designated room together. Of course Frodo did not believe for a moment that the King’s choices had been random. When Aragorn had announced that he would spend the evening with Frodo, Frodo had heard Faramir’s distressed sigh but he had been unable to meet his eyes.
Aragorn now sat beside Frodo and clasped his hand. His firm grip sent shivers up Frodo’s arms; he had longed for this since Rivendell, but if he allowed it to begin, he would not be able to stop. “Aragorn…”
Aragorn grasped Frodo’s shoulders, kneading his strong fingers into the hobbit’s tense muscles. “I know you are bound to Faramir.”
“This will hurt him.” Frodo took in deep breaths, trying calm his trembling. “Why did you—?”
“Hush,” Aragorn said, continuing to massage Frodo’s shoulders. “I’ll not do anything you do not wish.”
“I am bound to Faramir, but…” Frodo met Aragorn’s eyes. Oh, he should not be saying this, not when it would hurt his Faramir. “I would not be bound to him if I had thought you…if I had known…”
“If you knew I would be free,” Aragorn finished quietly. “Frodo, I give you my word. If you do not wish for this, then we will just give one another company for the night. I have missed you.”
Frodo bit his lip. Before charming Faramir into bed at Henneth Annun, he had spent many nights dreaming of exactly this – Aragorn seeking him out and declaring his desire. Even when he and Faramir made love, Frodo had sometimes pretended it was Aragorn thrusting into him. But Faramir’s heart was pure, and he believed Frodo’s to be pure as well. Frodo could never break his vow to him.
“Let us just talk,” Frodo said.
A carafe of wine rested on the table beside the settee, and next to it, two glasses.
“First things first,” Aragorn said, pouring the glasses full. They tapped their glasses together in toast. “To my Frodo.”
“But I am not yours.”
Aragorn smiled. “Forget not that I can send Faramir far away.”
“But you are too kind to break him in such a way."
“I wonder,” Aragorn said, his smile fading as his finger ran down Frodo’s soft cheek. “I wonder.”
He pulled Frodo into an embrace so that Frodo’s head rested against his chest. Frodo allowed this intimacy as they sipped their wine and talked. For one night, he could imagine what life could be. He dared not lift his head, for if he did, their lips would meet again, and then Frodo’s resolve would crumble.
***
Frodo had taken great care to straighten his clothing, to make sure his hair did not look mussed.
Faramir lay on their bed, his boots still on, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He startled when Frodo came in. He sat up, his jaw clenching.
“Did he touch you?”
His expression softened when Frodo cringed. “Do not fear wrath from me. I know you could not refuse the King.”
Frodo could not meet his gaze as he undressed, taking great pains to fold each article of clothing. “We merely shared wine and talked.” He smiled up at Faramir. “I will not tell you a falsehood – it gave me pleasure to talk to him in privacy.”
Faramir smiled. “The Lady Éowyn tried very hard to gain my favor; and I must admit she has the gift of persuasion. I had not had a woman in a long time, and she has an unusual beauty – “ He broke off when he saw how hard Frodo was.
“She does not have hobbit sense,” Frodo broke in, climbing into bed and straddling Faramir. He tugged at the laces to Faramir’s shirt, thrusting his arousal against Faramir’s groin.
Faramir sat upright, clutching Frodo’s hips. “Dare I hope that your heart stirs with jealousy?” He helped Frodo by taking off his shirt and flinging it to the floor.
“Yes…a little.” Frodo tugged at the laces to Faramir’s leggings while allowing the Man to cover his mouth with a deep, searching kiss. Rough hands stroked Frodo’s hips, moving up over his chest and nipples and back down to his arousal. Faramir was rock hard now and Frodo grasped his length.
“Oil!” Frodo demanded. Faramir’s arm encircled the back of Frodo’s neck, pulling him close for a lingering kiss while he reached for the vial on their bedside.
Later, lying secure in his lover’s tight embrace, sticky with their combined seed, Frodo smiled at the ceiling. His body resonated from the pleasure Faramir had given him, but also with the relief that the possibility of losing Faramir to Éowyn had caused such pain in his heart. Finally at peace with the choice he had made, he fell into a contented sleep.
END